Addictions

The job was nothing new. Reports of dead shmucks turning up in an unusually high number and concentration, and in ever more unusual circumstances. The pattern was consistent; some one would be awol for work, or not come home one night. A worried relative or friend filing a report, and days later, the bodies would show up. They knew it wasn't some sick serial killer, not with the tell-tale signs. Exsanguination. The victims sucked dry, a total depletion of blood volume, but no significant trauma. Other than those odd little punctures. And the burns.

The source was a liitle suspect, a typical grocery-store gossip rag. But they had long ago learned which ludricrous stories to discount, and which rang with a grain of truth as only they would recognize. And this one bore the hallmarks of a real problem. The article screamed vampire, which was the obvious conclusion to any one reading it. Grainy pictures of Bela Lugosi replete with black cape and wax fangs accompanied the story, enhancing the silliness of the report. But there were details buried in the nonsense that only reality could produce, and Dean caught them immediately.

He sat on the bed, plowing through a soggy corner store meatball sub and reading, while Sam did whatever he did online. Dean held the paper toward his brother and shook it to gain his attention. "Hey!" he said through a mouthful. "Poindexter; shut down the porn and read this!"

Sam shot him an acid look and sighed. "How 'bout you swallow first before you open your yap, Dean? You just sprayed lettuce all over."

Dean made a face and ignored him. "Just shut up and read it. Tell me there isn't a job in there."

Sam leaned forward with a frown and snatched the paper from Dean's hand. He made an exaggerated motion of shaking the debris from the pages before scanning them.

"So? What do you think?" Dean was antsy and eager for distraction. They had lain low for a while, after attracting some unwanted attention from local law on their last job. It was in their best interest to play normal for a while, but unfortunately, Dean didn't idle well. He required constant activity, to keep his mind from wandering old and ugly paths. His need to hunt was obsessive, practically an addiction.

Sam dropped the paper back on the bed. He wasn't all that keen on crawling back out into the glaring public eye just yet. It was safer here, in BF-nowhere, but Dean's jittery energy was driving him nuts, and it was getting to the point where it was this or fratricide.

"Yeah. I guess it sounds legit. I don't get the part about ritual marks though. I never knew vampires to be particularly ritual-oriented. They're pretty much all about immediate gratification...kind of like you, actually. I mean it's not like they're demons.."

"Tomaydo tomaddo." he shrugged. "And they might have a real story there, but the details are probably crap. I'm guessing the writer juiced it up a bit, but you've gotta admit, it makes it pretty damned interesting."

"Mmm." Sam flipped through the paper, then tossed it back. "When did you pick that up? I didn't see you go out."

"Didn't. It was at the doorstep, I saw it when I went out to get my stuff. Complimentary paper for our reading entertainment."

"Weird choice." Sam said, losing interest. "You'd think a local paper would be better."

Dean wouldn't let it go. "C'mon, Sam; how about following up on it? I'm bored out of my tree here, and I know you could use a diversion by now."

Sam snorted. He could have added any number of things to that, but he refrained. It was late afternoon, in the middle of a steaming heat wave, and too damned hot for sparring. Instead he sighed. "Fine. Whatever. At least it's not too far from here. Lucky." He shut his laptop and lay back on his own bed, sipping at his half finished coke and listening to the fat, lazy cluster flies bounce off the speckled glass of the mildew-framed window. "This place is gross." he grumbled, surveying the room with disgust.

Dean took that and ran with it. "Yeah it is! There's no reason we have to stay here; it takes five minutes to pack up our shit. Why don't we go find some motel or something out at, what was it; Lord's Mills or something? Hell, it can't be any worse than this dive."

Sam rubbed his forehead wearily and got up with a sloth's reluctance. He knew by now that he wouldn't win this one. Dean had that damned sparkle in his eyes.

"We're here." Dean shoved at Sam, who was snoozing in an uncomfortably cramped position against the passenger door.

Sam roused himself and sat up straighter, peering at the road ahead. "Jesus, finally. I thought the place was closer."

Dean looked sheepish. "Yeah, well, we might've taken the scenic route...I got a little turned around, but I figured it out."

The town revealed itself over the next hill. It was nothing special, half farming economy, half quaint tourism; apparently it was all about the maple syrup.. It had a main street that was shut down at this hour, being somewhere past six. The pavement radiated heat in distorting waves, and the brothers were sweating against the black leather of the non air-conditioned car. "Lord's Mills." Dean breathed in relief, as the sign flew past. He used his sleeve to wipe the sweat that was beading on his brow yet again, praying that their destination was air-conditioned. It was still early in the summer, but it had been uncommonly warm for weeks, and the only one pleased by that was a vindicated Al Gore. The rest of the eastern seaboard was flaked out in sticky easy chairs, fans whirring and praying for rain. At least with the tourism component, they had a few choices for the night. They settled on a plain little motel that looked bug-free and advertised a reasonable rate. Dean pulled to the gravel parking lot and shut the car down.

Both stretched wearily in the heat as they exited. Dean trudged toward the office as Sam began to collect their things from the trunk. It only took a few moments, it wasn't peak season, and Dean returned, whistling and swinging the keys. He opened the door to their unit, and Sam carried his armload in. It was better than the last place. Fresher, cleaner, and instead of the two stale singles, this one had two double beds separated by a tidy desk. Regardless of anything else, Sam was relieved to be sleeping in this new locale. Fewer flies at least.

"See? Told you it'd be better." Dean said in triumph.

Sam couldn't bitch. "So can I take stuff out for good this time? Or should I just leave it in the car in case this one isn't up to your standards either."

"Shut up, you whiner. And yeah, go ahead and settle in. And while you're at it, figure out what you want to do for dinner... I'm gonna grab a shower, and after, maybe see what there is to do around here." He threw his gear on to bed nearest the can, effectively claiming it, and headed into the bathroom. Sam repeated the routine he'd already done once that afternoon, opening his pack and taking out his immediate needs, and arranging the rest neatly beside his bed. He sprawled on his bed and closed his eyes, appreciating the bleached- clean scent of the sheets. He had to admit that it really was several steps above the last place. As he waited for his turn in the can, he turned to what he'd dumped on the desk. His wallet was there, unhappily thin. The newspaper from the previous motel. Pack of gum, which might do in a pinch...a note book, pen, and brush. Nothing filled the need, all he could think of was the rumble of hunger that plagued him. He yelled toward the closed bathroom door. "Would you hurry up?! I'm starving here!"

The shower noise stopped and Dean finally popped his head out the door. "You haven't ordered anything yet?!" He ducked back in, dressed fully, and returned. "Shit, Sam, it's already pushing eight, I can't hang around here while you make up your mind. I'll grab something wherever I end up. What about you, are you coming?"

Sam shook his head. Nothing was going to tear him away from this comfortable, clean bed after being folded up in the sweltering Impala for an eternity. "Nah. I'm beat, Dean. If you want to go out, be my guest. I'll order something in and just watch tv."

Dean shook his head. "God, you're such a wallflower. Seriously; come out with me, we'll find a couple of nice looking girls, we'll party, you'll wake up a new man."

Sam smiled indulgently and shook his head. "Go ahead, Dean. I'd only be a fifth wheel anyway. I'm not looking for what you are, so I'd only be a weight. Don't worry about me, ok? You were right, this place is way better, and I just want to relax in front of the tube after all the driving."

Dean watched him for a second, and decided it was fine. "Ok then. I get that. I think you're nuts, but whatever. I'll probably be at the closest joint around here, if it's half decent. I'll call you if there's any change. And Sam..?"

"Yeah..?"

"Take it easy on the porn channels, they're not cheap you know."

Sam expected a jibe of that nature. He flipped him the bird and grunted a goodbye as the door closed.

Sam was truly content to have begged off for the night. He was tired from the drive, hungry. His own heaven was simple, a take-out chinese dinner and a clean bed. He didn't want company or stress or thrills, all he wanted was a little peace. He was more than happy to let his brother go out and conquer the world for the night. As long as they didn't come back to the motel and demand he sleep in the damned car again...

He heard the roar of the Impala engine in the parking lot, and silently wished his brother success. But before relaxing, he counted to five and as he predicted, Dean stuck his head in the door again.

"You sure, Sam? Last chance to be wing-man.."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Go already. I'm fine. Hell, I'll be better than fine once you're out of my hair!" He knew how it sounded, but he also knew Dean understood.

Dean grinned then, a rare thing lately; carefree and weightless. "Perfect. So I won't see you tomorrow morning then, if there is a god."

Sam turned back to the book that awaited, smiling. "Knock yerself out."

When the door closed, Sam was left to himself. He sat back and looked around the plain little room. It was worn and dated, but kept well. More importantly, it was quiet. He'd endured hour upon hour in the Impala, taped classic rock blaring, Dean occasionally adding to the din with his own improvised lyrics. He was ready to poke out his eardrums with a stick long before they stopped for the night. He knew the cues, Dean was stir-crazy, and needed release. He needed something that a brother couldn't offer, and bloody soon. Sam was more than happy to send his hyper sibling out to seek what he needed. He knew from experience that the world's chakras flowed much more smoothly when Dean Winchester was sated, one way or another. If his planets lined up, he didn't expect to see him anytime before noon next day.

Dean didn't have to make a choice, there was only one watering hole in the little town. But it was busy, and loud, and he liked that. He parked himself at the bar and ordered a draught, and turned to survey the room. There were alot of women, some of them real lookers. It wasn't short of male patrons either. Most of them looked like they were just there for a good time. A few carried themselves with a certain belligerance. If he struck out, which was unlikely-he might at least expend some pent-up frustration in a decent fight. He prefered the first option, though.

As he turned to look down the row of bar stools, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. The empty stool beside him was now filled, and nicely so.

"Hey." she said, smiling.

"Hey yourself." He returned her smile.

A young woman, dressed expensively and sporting a mane of honey-brown hair, perched on the seat, and she looked him over with coy confidence. Her posture was welcoming. She put a tanned elbow on the bar and cocked her head. "Don't tell me you're here alone..?"

He smiled and motioned to the bartender to refill both their glasses. "What makes you think that?"

She laughed easily. "Nice try, I saw you check the booty out in here. If you had a date, she'd be furious about now."

She was right, he couldn't deny it. He coloured a little, busted as he was. He introduced himself and met her eyes, leaning toward her slightly. "So how 'bout you?"

"Me? Oh, I'm just stopping for a bit. I'm on my way to New York for a family thing. The drive was killing me. It's Iris, by the way."

He pitched then. "No, I mean, are you here alone?"

And she caught it handily. "Alone...hmm. Technically, yes. For now." She didn't add any more, and he raised his eyebrows slightly, interest piqued.

The conversation followed a predictable path. They liked the look of each other. Neither was staying for long, and both were, it seemed, looking for something this night. Any other details were irrelevant. And she was beautiful. Just the way he liked; obvious in her sexuality, and confident, with round, full attributes on a slender frame, and hair that was long and loose and caught onto her thick lashes when she tossed her head. He laid out his charms and she responded in kind. At times like this, when they were on the road and moments of leisure were hard-won, he didn't want a challenge. He wanted a girl who wanted him back, with an ardour that matched his own, and with no pretense over the need for long and complicated wooing. Or at least, not too much. Time was tight, sure; but he was looking for a willing partner, not a whore.

After a while, she leaned forward and whispered. "Listen...I don't want to seem... I mean... I'm staying at a nice little B&B nearby. It's walking distance. The chairs are a lot more comfortable there."

He got the drift. "Sure. Sounds great. Just let me settle up."

She rose and brushed her lips against his cheek in one fluid motion. "Just need to freshen up. Back in a minute." She left to go to the restroom.

Dean watched her go, appreciating the view. The bartender cleared away the empty glasses and Dean paid his bill. Worried for a moment about expectations, Dean turned to him and asked discreetly; "Hey, uh...the girl beside me...she's not..you know, a professional?"

The man smirked. "Don't know. I doubt it; she looks pretty classy, and we don't have alot of "working girls" in this fly-speck town. She's not local, I can tell you that much." He grinned wider and winked. "But hey, nice work there, Bud. She's a hot little handful."

Dean tipped him and stood as she returned. She edged closer to him and smiled disarmingly. "Ready to go?"

He nodded, and she took his hand and led him outside. In the parking lot, it occurred to him that Sam would appreciate a heads up. He rooted around in his jacket for his phone, but before he had a chance to hit the number, she stayed his hand. She pressed herself against him, planted her mouth over his, and breathed, "Let's go...now. Don't make me wait."

Sam scarfed down the delivered food in record time. It hardly mattered that it was well past warm, he tipped the delivery kid anyway, happy to be fed. When there was nothing left but wrappers and styrofoam containers, Sam cracked another beer, settled back on his bed and turned on the TV . He settled for a rerun of Bull Durham, a favourite of his, a film that didn't require him to think, but wasn't idiotic. He found his final treat, and opened the fortune cookie, reading the strip.

"Geese can be troublesome." He snorted, crumpling it and flicking it toward the waste basket. Yeah, that was meaningful. Note to self; watch out for the geese.

"A B&B huh...really?" Dean said uncertainly. He was used to more skeevy accommodations; these fancy, refined, excessively personal places made him intensely uncomfortable.

She chuckled at his obvious discomfort. "Relax, I've got the place to myself. No Ma & Pa Kettle dropping by with a tea-tray, I promise." She let him pull her closer as they walked, and her hand strayed over his backside, settling in his pocket and resting there. It was fully dark when they stepped up the stairs of the porch. It was the standard Victorian gothic brick, decorated with an over-wrought frill of painted wooden fretwork and surrounded by fussy gardens. The lights were all off; Dean was pleased that it seemed she was right, they would be alone. She unlocked the door, and before they could enter she caught him off guard, pushing him against the bricks and kissing him hungrily. He knew he'd chosen well, and he pulled her hard against him. After a few passionate moments spent there, they entered the room.

It was large, huge by motel standards, and dominated by a massive cannonball bed. If he'd noticed the decor, he'd have been disgusted by the ruffles and lace and dusty- rose everything. Another saccharine geese-wearing-ribbons decorating job. But he wasn't seeing anything but her now, and it didn't matter how sweet and pretty and pristine the room was, things were going to get dirty.

"So..." he breathed. She didn't let him finish. She pushed him down onto the bed, her weight falling on to him. He thought that god had finally listened, and he responded to her forceful ardour. She pulled away then. "Wait.." she giggled. She leaned over and opened the doors of her bedside commode, retrieving a bottle. "Nightcap." She reached again and brought out a pair of crystal glasses., setting them on to the marble surface. The bottle was a fine old scotch, dusty with age, and she splashed some into each glass as he watched. She turned to him and handed him one. Her eyes were smoky, and she raised her glass in a silent toast. He touched the rim with his own and they drank.

The strong drink burned a pleasantly heated path down his throat. She took the glass from his fingers and smiled.

The channel switched to snow for the third time. Sam sighed with annoyance, having to rise from his comfort every time to try to correct it. He knew it had to be weather related. It had been brutally hot and humid for days, something had to give eventually, and when he was able to get a signal again, he abandoned the movie and switched to the weather channel. The warning that was trumpeted was hardly a surprise. Severe thunderstorm warning for the counties of- He lost track after recognising theirs. Great. It seemed unlikely that he was going to get to spend his hard-won leisure time entertained by the television. He glanced at his watch. It was close to eleven. For a moment, he thought of going out and joining Dean, where ever he'd ended up, but he knew he'd be tom-catting it, and he didn't want to cramp his style. And Dean would have found himself a spicy little tart by now, knowing his damned luck. Instead, he hunted through their gear until he found Dean's hidden stash of a half bag of smarties, grabbed another cold beer and settled down to read.

"That was nice.." he said, nuzzling her hair. "Now where were we?"

She kissed him on the lips with an aggression that surprised him, and bit him in the process. He protested, only but mildly. He was up for a little rough play, it was just about perfect right now. He tasted the metallic tang of his own blood and kissed her back equally hard, rolling on her and pinning her arms. "You're a wild little thing, aren't you?"

She smirked and squirmed free, rolling him and reversing their order on the bed. "Oh yeah. You bit off more than you can chew tonight, sweetheart. You have no idea what I'm capable of, Dean Winchester."

He froze instantly. "What..?" His eyes widened in shock. He hadn't revealed his last name to her; he never did that. "How do you..?" He ceased speaking as his tongue suddenly felt thick in his mouth. A wave of dizzying cold flooded along his veins, and he moved to push her off, but the wires frayed and failed between his brain and the rest of him. She laughed at his reaction, forcing him back down and holding his arms against the quilt, hovering close to his face. "Surprised? God, what arrogance! You shouldn't be. You make it your business to hunt others. You thrill at hurting them, when all they want is to be left in peace You do this over and over; and you never once thought you'd be hunted back?"

He struggled hard then, as he felt a strange sensation invade his nerves. The bones in his limbs melted, and he was swept by an icy fear as he realized he couldn't even curl his fingers. Her hate-filled leer blended into a whirling fun-house mirage, the bed fell away beneath his back as her voice became a distorted echo in the chasm that he spun down into. He blinked hard once, but nothing cleared, and even breathing ceased being automatic as paralysis rapidly claimed his muscles. He panted like a winded rabbit, and managed to form one word. "Why?!"

She held him down, and sneered at his panic-stricken impotence. "You have no idea who I am, do you? Well, you self-righteous, murdering prick; you will!"

..God he was sick of Stephen King. Sam tossed the book aside. It was just more of the same. The author might be considered a master at weaving tales of horror, but to Sam, it was all in a day's work. And the last thing he wanted to fill his evening with was a reminder of that fact. He was bored. Checking the window, he saw that it was still dry, the rain wasn't coming just yet. Fresh air and a walk was what he needed. He threw a tee-shirt on, found his sandals amongst his things, and headed out into the darkness.

It was still stiflingly hot, despite the late hour. He was glad their unit had air conditioning, otherwise it would have been like sleeping in a sauna. He walked up the highway, looking up at the starry sky and catching the bluish flashes of distant lightning. There were thunderheads building out there, it might be clear now but he guessed the morning would be wet. For once, he thought, the weather service might actually have gotten it right. Something wicked this way comes. Looked like it would be a mother of a storm. He walked about a mile, and stopped at the crest of a bridge that spanned a quietly burbling stream. The sign identified it as the Upper Goose River. He stood, leaning over the cement guard, listening to the gentle sounds of the water, and the occasional booming of a bullfrog challenging a distant rival upstream. He guessed that this was the stream that must have powered the mills of Lord's Mills fame. He squinted in the darkness to see, and some distance away, he could see the ruins of a stone structure illuminated intermittently by the approaching lighning. Cool. He might go check that out, when it was daylight. Right now, the sky seemed a little too ominous, and he thought he should probably head back. The mosquitoes were becoming more than a niusance anyway, and if he stayed any longer he'd be down a few pints to the little blood-suckers.

He awoke in decidedly less comfortable surroundings. No longer in the pink and frilly room, he was lying on an old, musty-smelling mattress, surrounded by crumbling stone walls. He could see a large square of natural light, and it was a shade of grey-blue that foretold the eminent sunrise. It confused him. He was in a building, why could he see the sky? It was too much to contemplate at the moment. He closed his eyes again against the nauseating headache that plagued him. It was a wicked hangover, and he knew from unhappy experience that it was the residual gift of being drugged. He tried to wrap his brain around the circimstances that brought him to this state. He remembered the bar...the girl. The brick house. It had all been going so well, but... it changed. Yeah, that's right...The willing girl, Iris, she was all over him, but...she'd called him by his full name. His eyes flew open, remembering. She'd slipped him something, the bitch! Fear awakened fully now, along with his memory. Her sweet expression had turned harsh and ugly. She seemed to know him, but he had no idea who she was or what possible issue she had with him. Shit. Ice crept through his guts. She'd acted like an ardent partner, she was certainly the aggressor in the bed. He'd figured he was in for a wild ride, but nothing like this. The scenario might have been hot several hours ago, while she lay with him, but now, it had a definite sinister cast. He knew he was in some deep trouble now.

The light was strengthening. He craned his neck to survey his keep. Stone walls, and the charred remains of ancient beams surrounded him. There was machinery; cogs and wheels, huge and rusted. It was some sort of ruin, half roofless now. It explained why he could see the sky, and why the whine of insects was so loud. He was sure he could hear water somewhere. The were no sounds of civilization. It was an ugly situation, but at least, for the moment, he was alone. Iris was absent, so he had the bed to himself, such as it was. Under normal circumstances, he'd have been thrilled. There were many times in the past that he'd woken up to a strange woman snuggled against him, and any one of those times he's have given his left nut to escape from the entanglement. But this morning it seemed his options were limited. He was bound, hand and foot, and staked to the dirt floor beyond the mattress edge. The fog of drugs rendered him slow to react, but when the realization hit him fully, he swore out loud. No one was around to hear it. He tugged at his bindings, then yanked hard. The ropes only tightened, and he felt the tingle in his hands that told him he was strangling his circulation by struggling. Beautiful. He stopped for a moment to regroup, and summed up his night. He'd met a girl. He'd been drugged, obviously. And early too. He was crestfallen to remember that nothing good had happened that could in any way justify his current state. Nope, this wasn't the result of some epic bedroom romp. As far as he could remember, he never even got close to making it count. And things pretty much went downhill from there.. He lay sprawled in the morning light, on his damp, cast-off mattress, frowning and twisting his hands until his wrists felt raw. What the hell was this, now?

It was past noon, and still Sam had heard nothing. It was an unspoken rule between them that when Dean stayed out late, Sam was not to disturb him until at least late next morning, for obvious reasons. And Dean, in turn, would at least leave a message as to his plans. Well, Dean hadn't done so, but that happened now and then. But he always answered his phone, even if it was bad timing, because the dangers they faced demanded it. Sam see-sawed between annoyance, anger, and serious worry. He stopped pacing and plunked down on the bed. He tried the phone again, but was met with the same result. He swore quietly and threw the phone onto the comforter. The paper was there, he picked it up and flipped through it, hardly seeing the contents. He stopped and re-read the article that brought them here. There was nothing unusual, nothing they might have missed. Maybe Dean was just occupied... He was about to discard it when something caught his eye. He held the page closer, and saw an anomaly. Everything about it matched the rest of the paper, the printing, the weight and texture of it, but when he examined it closely, he could see that the page had been carefully spliced in. He cursed their stupidity. The page wasn't even numbered, they should have picked up on that. It was a deliberate deception; it was specific and designed to intrigue only them. He dropped it, and fear knotted his stomach as the reality struck him. They were led here. Someone wanted them to be accessible, in a planned location, and it was someone who knew who they were and what they did. They must have been tailed for some time... He broke out in a cold sweat. Christ, what the hell was going on here..?!

He saw no one for hours. He figured that was a good thing, as he was about as vulnerable as he could get. But the thought had occurred to him that for whatever reason, he may have been abandoned here. It would be bizarre, to say the least. Why would anyone do that? If she had it in for him, this type of end was hardly satisfying. And besides, he remembered that his erstwhile date had vowed that he would know her. The way she said it, it seemed pretty important to the plot. He almost wished someone would show so he would know what the hell it was all about.

It had clouded over. Rain had begun to fall through the roof, and he could hear the rumble of thunder rolling . It echoed strangely in the ruin, which by now he had figured was a mill of some kind. It was torture, knowing water was just outside the wall. He was desperately thirsty. He had tried every twist, every position, but there was no freeing his hands and feet, and he finally gave up. He thanked whoever was responsible for the small kindness of the mattress. At least he wasn't lying on the muddy floor, which was getting slick with the wind-driven rain. The section of roof that remained intact was overhead, so he wasn't getting directly soaked, but enough drove through the hole to make him fairly miserable.

He couldn't see his watch, but he'd guessed by the shadows of the morning that the rain had begun around nine or ten. By noon, it was a torrent, and the thunder was frequent and deafening. His overshirt flapped in the gusting wind, and his sleeves and tee shirt had begun to cling to him with damp. Grit and leaf detritus blew in his eyes several times, eliciting a stream of vitriole. When he'd had enough, he roared her name, several times. It didn't produce Iris, but he felt a little better. His phone, jammed uncomfortably in a back pocket beneath him, vibrated for a third time. He knew it would be Sam, and that the kid would be worried by now. Good... he thought. Now get your butt out there and look for me, dumb-ass. The ringing was a bit of comfort, even if he couldn't answer. At least he was still connected to the world, and Sam would figure this out. Sam would come, eventually. A pang of fear constricted his gut. He had to.

Sam was without wheels, which was a problem. His only immediate option was to hitchhike into downtown. He grabbed his phone, the gun from under Dean's pillow, and his wallet, and headed up to the highway. Several cars passed, but a pickup full of hay slowed and stopped. A man gestured to him, and asked where he needed to go.

"I'm looking for the closest bar, I guess. I'm trying to track a buddy down, he said he was going in last night to find some place to hang out."

"Well that'd be O'Connor's, there's pretty much nothing else here that fits the bill. Hop in, just push the dog over."

Easier said than done. The animal that occupied most of the bench was monolithic; some sort of mastiff, and it growled a deep rumble of warning when Sam touched it.

"Max! Friend!" the farmer barked. The dog relaxed immediately, almost grinning, and it wagged as Sam pushed its bulk over and slid onto the seat. The young man was relieved, as Max looked like he could swallow Sam's none-too-small head without chewing.

They chit-chatted for the short trip, and Sam was let off in front of the establishment. He knew immediately that he had the right place. The Impala stood alone in the gravel parking lot. Sam's heart sank. Unless Dean was sleeping it off in the backseat, it meant he was separated from his car, and that set off a carillon of warning bells. He crossed the lot quickly, and saw immediately that the car was empty. It was locked, and he fished out the spare key from his wallet. It started without effort. Nothing was amiss inside, as far as he could see. Dean's phone wasn't there. He sat in it for a while, letting the car settle to a rumbling idle, and fretted. Several cars had joined him as he mused. The bar was opening, and he saw several people go inside. He shut the car down and followed them, hoping someone could shed light on where Dean could have gone.

The man behind the bar listened, and then a smile of recognition spread across his face. "Oh yeah, I remember him. He got lucky last night, or was going to. He had a woman with him, real good looking. They left together. She said something about walking, as I recall."

Sam breathed with relief., momentarily. So Dean had found himself a port in the storm. If everything turned out to be nothing, then his brother was simply a jerk for ignoring his calls. His relief vanished though, when he remembered the newspaper issue. He may have left with a woman, but that didn't mean she wasn't a threat. "You don't happen to know which direction..?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. I was stuck in here. But I can tell you she wasn't from around here, so could be she was staying at one of the Inns in town. There's a couple close by, The Federal Inn, uh, The Victoria, and the Goose Nest."

Sam snapped up. "Goose nest..?" It was the second reference to geese he'd had since the weird little fortune cookie. It was almost too much of a coincidence.

"Yeah. It's not really an inn, more of a private house that rents rooms. Nice place, just up the street, here. I can get the number if you want."

"Uh, yeah...thanks." Sam waited, and then took the slip of paper out to the car. He called immediately, but it rang and rang, finally turning over to voicemail. He left a message, and then drove to find it.

It was a short drive. He saw the sand-blasted sign just up the street, and pulled into the driveway. He got out and knocked, waiting anxiously for an answer. No one came, and he tried again, this time with the bell. When the door remained closed, he peeked in through the lace of a side light, but all he saw was a cat, pacing back and forth. He decided to try around back, following a cobbled path that passed a shed, where a sharp, rank odour struck him like a wall. He knew that stink too well; it was the unmistakable smell of putrefaction. He grew cold, praying it was just an animal that had gotten stuck, and he pried the shed doors open. A haze of flies greeted him, and dispersed. The stink was so strong that he gagged, and held his breath. An orange tarp lay along one side, and it was wrapped around something large enough to be cause for serious concern. He rolled it over, and more flies escaped. It was tied, and he cut the rope and pulled a corner away.

He was met by a horror. Two bodies, a pair of elderly people; had been bound into the bundle. He had to go out for a moment to gasp fresh air before examining it further, and when he returned he found the same tell-tale marks on each wrinkled grey throat. Dried blood, and gaping punctures. The newspaper... He pulled the tarp back over; there was nothing he could do for them now, and backed away. When he'd calmed enough, he shut the shed doors and quickly left the scene. Whoever had lured them here had gotten the details right. There were vampires at work here, and he panicked fully now over his brother's fate.